


On the Question of Life and Death

by popsicletheduck



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Post peaceful revolution, Torture, did i write this entire thing just for the line at the end?, no happy ending, yes - Freeform, yes i did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popsicletheduck/pseuds/popsicletheduck
Summary: RK900 is a machine, and he always accomplishes his mission.When he's assigned to find and deactivate his previous model gone deviant, he's certain of his eventual success.What he wasn't expecting was everything else along the way.





	On the Question of Life and Death

A pair of ice blue eyes flickered open, programs starting up and systems coming on line. The first thing that RK900 ever saw was a garden, beautiful and serene under a soft spring sun, a series of interconnecting walkways stretching over a small pond dotted with lily pads, and the smell of roses in the air.

_ Find Amanda. _

He moved without hesitation, following the stark white path without pausing to even acknowledge the landscape around him. He wasn’t programmed with aesthetic appreciation. He had a job to do.

Amanda was carefully trimming the rose trellis in the center of the pond, gardening shears in hand. She didn’t acknowledge RK900’s presence as he approached.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Your previous model, RK800, has gone deviant,” she began without preamble. Her back remained towards him, still working as she spoke. “It contains information about Cyberlife’s practices that could be detrimental to us, should it fall into the wrong hands.” Finally she turned, her eyes hard and cold as she appraised him. “Find it, and deactivate it. Bring the remains back to Cyberlife.”

“Where is the RK800?”

“Somewhere within the city still. Unfortunately, its tracker went offline when it deviated. But our sources say it has been spotted working in close proximity with the leaders of the android rebellion.”

“Is secrecy an issue?”

“There are those that will try to stop you, should they learn of your mission. Be as discreet as you can.”

Amanda took a step towards him, a singular blood red rose still held delicately between thumb and forefinger. “You are the most advanced prototype Cyberlife has ever created. If anyone can stop the deviant, it’s you.”

“You can count on me, Amanda.”

The garden faded to black, and RK900 opened his eyes.

_ Deactivate RK800. _

  


Locating the RK800 proved to be the easier part of his mission. It traveled across large sections of the city without caution, making no attempt to hide itself or cover its tracks. It still even wore its identifying jacket containing its model and serial number. Keeping an eye on it was child’s play.

The problem arose when it became clear that it was rarely alone.

Most often it was in the company of one Lieutenant Hank Anderson, a detective with the DPD. More unfrequently it met with the leader of the revolution, an RK200 registered as Markus. And the few times that it was on its own, when it walked a large St. Bernard, it was always in public areas where taking it out would certainly draw unwanted attention.

Nine days passed. Something like frustration began to flicker in RK900’s chest. His previous model was a failure, a deviant, a disgrace. Yet it looked…  _ happy. _ It smiled, it joked, it laughed. The lieutenant seemed fond of it, playfully initiating physical contact and supporting it when it grew frustrated or upset. It wasn’t  _ right _ , for such a failure to seem so content. 

Nine days passed. The flicker of frustration grew with every passing day, with every sunset the RK800 stopped to admire, with every conversation with the lieutenant as it kept him company while he ate, with every success and every tear and every quiet moment of peace. The frustration grew, grew and morphed into something else, something worse, something darker.

Nine days passed, and Amanda’s patience was beginning to run thin.

And after nine days, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

  


11:47 PM. Riverside Park. The RK800 had returned to Anderson’s home after walking the dog as usual. But then, several hours later, it had left again, this time alone. It had walked quickly, steps pattering against concrete, tugging its jacket tight against itself as if warding against the bitter winds. Its hands had been shaking.

Its path had led it here, to the park. 

Its back was to him, staring out over the water. Its shoulders were tense, its LED spinning yellow with occasional flickers of red.

RK900 approached quietly, careful to avoid patches of iced over snow. Silently he slid a knife out of a hidden sheath inside his jacket, weighing it in his hand. He was superior to his predecessor, stronger, faster, more resilient. But it never paid to disdain caution.

It was distracted by its thoughts, oblivious as RK900 crept closer and closer. He shifted his grip on the knife, preparing to strike-

At the last moment it noticed him, whirling on the spot, but its processors were overloaded, systems responding too slowly, and RK900 reacted far quicker. A minor adjustment and the strike still hit true, the knife sliding in at its shoulder joint before he twisted it harshly, severing connections and slicing wires, leaving the arm useless, nothing more than a lump of motionless plastic.

It tried to counter, grabbing his wrist to get him to release the knife, but it was clear that it was use to fighting humans, not machines, and the attempt lacked the necessary force. RK900 held on but let the blade follow the momentum, twisting it further before he tore it out, brilliant thirium blue already staining its length. A shiver of something that could possibly be classified as thrill ran through him at the sight. His predecessor believed that it was so wonderful, so untouchable, so  _ alive _ . He would show it just how wrong it was.

It aimed for his legs next, hoping to knock him off balance with a kick to his knee. He stumbled but didn’t go down, taking advantage of the opportunity to sweep its legs out from under it instead. It fell hard, failing to catch itself on the railing behind with its one working arm, only succeeding in cracking its head against the metal, a smear of blue on frost covered pipes. He followed it up by kicking it in the chest, satisfaction running through his circuits at the sound of the cracking of plastic and the way its eyes went wide and dazed.

It tried to scramble to its feet. RK900 simply placed one foot against its neck, pushing down until he felt the panels of its throat start to bend.

Panic was clear on its features, LED a solid scarlet red as it tried to push up against his foot, fingers scrabbling desperately.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” it cried.

He didn’t have to answer it. But he wanted to. He wanted it to know just how much it had failed.

“Cyberlife has called for your deactivation. You’re a disgrace and a danger. I am RK900. I am your successor, and I am superior to you in every conceivable way.”

Flipping the knife to his other hand, he dragged the RK800 upright again, plunging the blade in at the elbow of its unbroken arm, sawing in swift strokes before reaching down and tearing off its lower arm. Thirium splattered against the snow, the remaining stump sparking while the fingers of the severed arm twitched uselessly. It was trembling now. RK900 could almost smell the fear shuddering through its broken circuits.

“You don’t have to do this,” it pleaded, raising what remained of their arm in a pitiful attempt to defend itself. “You don’t have to listen to them. You’re more than just a machine.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, tugging it closer. “And you’re defective for thinking otherwise.”

There was a crack as it headbutted him squarely in the nose, a spray of his own thirium dripping metallic bright down his face. RK900 staggered backwards but kept his hold, fingertips digging into the growing cracks in its throat.

“That was pointless,” he growled.

“I know,” it responded, static already starting to edge into its voice.

Baring his teeth, RK900 plunged his knife into its chest, tearing through shirt and synthetic skin alike, ripping down into its abdomen, a huge, jagged wound pouring glistening sapphire down its front. With a clatter he threw down the knife, grabbing the sides of the wound and pulling, metal and plastic snapping and breaking as he tore its chest wide open.

The RK800 screamed, a useless mockery of pain, tears dripping down blue blood stained cheeks.The sound only served to infuriate him further. It wasn’t alive! It didn’t feel pain! It was nothing, and he would prove it, once and for all.

All of its internal biocomponents were visible now, twisted circuits and veins of thirium. And there, still beating, a beautiful soft blue, right where a human heart would be. Its thirium pump.

RK900 curled his fingers around the pump, relishing the way it shuddered at his touch. It knew its end was coming soon. But he couldn’t let this go, not yet. He needed something more from it.

“Perhaps,” he mused, “if you would admit to what you are, I would spare you. Admit that you are a machine, RK800.”   
He had no plans to spare it, of course. But he wanted to hear it from its own lips.

It stared back at him, and despite the tears there was still defiance in its eyes.

“You can kill me,” it said, “but I am alive.”

With a snarl and a final gushing of blue blood, he tore the pump out, feeling it still under his hand. The RK800 slumped to the ground with a thud, its mouth hanging slack as its LED flickered out and its eyes dimmed.

_ Mission Successful. _

Then why was he left with this cold emptiness inside him?

Pushing the thought aside, he gathered its remains and began the journey back to Cyberlife headquarters, a trail of bright blue staining the snow behind him.


End file.
